After Shawarma
by Verdreht
Summary: "What meal couldn't be made better with a pair of assassins, a scientist prone to explosive temper tantrums, a demigod shoveling shawarma, and a super soldier that was...sleeping? Surely not." Tony/Steve pre-slash fluff I regret nothing!


It was the best shawarma Tony had ever had in his life.

It was the _only_ shawarma Tony had ever had in his life, too, but he didn't think that should detract from the strength of his statement. Though he didn't really have anything to compare it to, that shawarma had been delicious. The only thing that had ever come close was the hamburger in fries he'd had that one time in high school, the first time he'd tried weed. Munchies notwithstanding, no meal had ever compared.

Until now.

Given the lack of mind-altering substances – unless there was something in the sauce the vendor hadn't told them about – he was kind of curious as to what it was. The company, maybe, he thought. Really, what meal couldn't be made better with a pair of assassins, a scientist prone to _explosive_ temper tantrums, a demigod shoveling shawarma like it was going out of style, and a super soldier that was…

…sleeping.

Surely not.

Tony leaned in a little closer, craning his neck to get a better view. Steve had his face propped on his hand, his plate long-forgotten (by him, if not by Thor), and from the looks of things—

Yep, he was out. Sawing logs. Taking his forty winks. Konked out. Power napping.

Strangely, Tony thought it was one of the most adorable things he'd ever seen. Even cuter than those weird cat pictures Pepper kept sending him.

Or maybe it was Happy that kept sending them…

Regardless, they were creepy. Steve, on the other hand, was cute.

That said, Tony was only human, and a man at that. Steve had broken the cardinal rule of group gatherings: never be the first to fall asleep.

Looking around the table, he had a lot of choices for the vehicle of his attack. There was a mustard container, but then, Steve was still in his suit and he wasn't sure how well mustard came out of Kevlar. There was always the whipped cream on the hand trick, though given the lack of available whipped cream, he might have to substitute in some of the weird mayo sauce.

Again, though, very messy.

Finally, his eyes fell on a singular item. So simple, yet so elegant, there were no other candidates. This was the table weapon to end all table weapons, and it lay right in front of him, as if begging to be employed in his master plan.

"What are you doing with that straw?"

Tony just flashed Bruce a smile and deftly peeled off about an inch of the paper wrapper of the straw.

"I'm concerned," Clint said, looking around the table. "Is anyone else concerned?"

Tony ignored him, bringing the exposed plastic up to his lips. He had a straight shot at his target, and he was ready to fire.

"Leave him alone, Tony," Natasha said. "Let him sleep."

"He told me he'd had his fill," Tony said innocently. "I'm just keeping him at his word."

And with that, Tony aimed and…

"Come on, Tony, don't—"

Fire.

The straw wrapper struck true, hitting Steve right in the cheek.

Now, Tony hadn't known Steve long enough to know if he was _generally_ a light sleeper, or if it was just because he was dozing, but the second that straw wrapper hit, it was like he'd been shot. With a gasp, he jerked back…

And promptly fell backwards in his chair.

Which, Tony guessed, would have been a lot funnier if he hadn't cracked his head against the corner of the table behind him on the way down.

Bruce shot Tony a look as if to say, "look what you did," and then nodded pointedly towards where Steve had fallen.

That was Tony's cue to check on his friend, not that it was really necessary. Tony was already on his feet, walking around Thor who'd stood as well to crouch down next to where Steve had sprawled out from his chair.

"Son of a gun," Steve was mumbling when he got there. He'd rolled onto his back, but he hadn't gotten much farther than that. He had his hand on his head, and a dazed sort of wince on his face. His other hand was on his side, and Tony wondered why it was—

Oh.

Right, the Chitauri's blast.

Shit.

Part of Tony had the strangest urge to apologize. In hindsight, maybe shooting the guy with a straw wrapper while he was Cap Napping hadn't been the smoothest move. Still, what good was an apology going to do when he could just as easily devote that energy to getting Steve up off the floor.

Slipping a hand under his shoulder, he did exactly that, helping Steve sit up and helping him _stay_ sitting up when he started to lean. There was no telling how much was fatigue and how much was the knock he'd just taken to the head, though Tony was really pulling for the former rather than the latter.

"Next time we get a chance," he said, "I'm making you watch the Matrix. Maybe you could learn a thing or two."

Steve looked confused, though again, how much of it was fatigue and how much was a possible concussion was entirely up for debate. "I don't…"

"Get that reference," Tony said. "Yeah, I know. I'll try to stick to flying monkeys from here out. Now, come on, that's enough time as a Star-Spangled doormat. Up."

Standing, Tony offered Steve a hand up, and guided him back to his seat by his shoulders. After a second or two just to make sure Steve wasn't going to pitch one way or the other, he went back to his seat.

"Well," Clint said after a moment. "That was fun." He looked at Steve. "You okay?"

Instead of an answer, though, Steve just reached across the table and grabbed _every _straw out from in front of Tony and dropped them on his other side, well out of Tony's reach.

Satisfied, he dropped his head back on his hand and let his eyes close again.

It seemed like that was that, because Thor promptly picked back up his shawarma and took another hefty bite out of it. Clint went back to trying to balance the salt shaker and a handful of forks on the edge of the table, Natasha went back to picking at her French fries, and Tony leaned back in his chair and pretended not to notice the disapproving look Bruce was shooting his direction.

Ten, fifteen minutes later, when everyone had finished, they all stood to leave.

Well, all but one.

"Tony…" Bruce said as Tony walked around the table to stand behind a once-again-sleeping Steve.

Tony held up his hands innocently. "Relax, The Incredible Den Mother. I'm not keen on giving the Captain another concussion." Not that he'd given him a concussion the first time. Steve was a helluva lot harder headed than that. Had to be.

One of the reasons the guy was growing on him, probably.

"You kids go on ahead. I'll square up here and take care of Captain Narcolepsy."

Bruce looked hesitant, but as everyone else around him started for the door, he seemed to decide it wasn't worth fighting, and he followed them out. Tony figured they could find their way to the tower on their own. At least three of them knew how to drive, of which he'd probably maybe trust at least one of them to get them there in one piece.

No worries.

Besides, he had other things to worry about. Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a couple of bills and plopped them on the table with a smile at the vendor. "Buy yourselves something nice," he said, and then set to the second part of his job assignment.

Putting a hand on Steve's shoulder, he gave the younger (minus his 70 year stint on ice) man a small shake. "Hey," he said. "Come on, rise and shine, Stars'n'Stripes."

Steve stirred, mercifully far less violently than before. His head started to lift a little off his hand, and Tony couldn't help smiling at the big red spot on his cheek where he'd been resting it.

"Morning, Sunshine," Tony said when he finally saw the first slivers of bloodshot blue eyes.

Steve's brows furrowed as he rubbed a hand across his face. "Tony? What…where are the others?"

Tony feigned devilishness. "Dine and dash."

"Dine and—Tony!"

"Don't get your spandex in a bunch," Tony said, unable to keep the amusement from his face. It really was _too_ easy to get Steve worked up. "There's money on the table. The others are already heading back, and I, being the responsible and kind-hearted philanthropist I am, volunteered to remain here and see you safely returned."

"They guilt-tripped you, didn't they?" The fatigue really helped him pull off the deadpan.

"No," Tony said quickly.

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "You guilt-tripped _yourself_?"

"I think that head trauma has given you delusions of grandeur."

Steve didn't protest, but the smile that spread across his dirt-smeared face said all it needed to. He didn't buy it for a second. He knew Tony cared, and he was…happy about it?

The smile, white-toothed and sincere and Darwin-save-him _perfect_, was almost worth the blow to his carefully-cultivated reputation.

"Come on, let's blow this shawarma stand."

With that, he headed out to the car, leaving Steve to follow him.

Tony figured he could chalk it up to the unnaturally but decidedly-attractively long legs that Steve made it to the passenger side door right about the same time he made it to the driver's side.

Fast forward five minutes.

The sound of steady breaths coming from the passenger side made Tony smile as he turned the music down just a little. The chorus was coming up, and he didn't want anything to wake Steve up from his nap until absolutely necessary.

Every so often, Tony would steal a glance as he drove, each time finding something new.

Steve looked so much younger when he was asleep. He'd been young when he'd gone into the military…it was just hard to see through the poise to the young man still in there somewhere. Now, though, with all the necessary hardness relieved from his face, with all the lines and muscles relaxed, he looked almost like a kid. Young…innocent…pure.

He wasn't a loud sleeper, either. Thor could snore up a storm – literally – and Clint had this weird habit of talking in his sleep. Not Steve, though. Maybe he shifted a little bit, his head lolling until it found a perfect cradle between the seat and the door, but he was quiet.

But those observations were nothing compared to the biggest finding of all:

Seeing him sleep, seeing the _peace_ on that young face…

…he found something worth fighting for.


End file.
